Car Review: Porsche 911 GTS Coupe

The 2011 Porsche Carrera 911 GTS is a perfect blend of track-like performance and on-street sophistication.

Brian Harper, National Post

The 2011 Porsche Carrera 911 GTS is a perfect blend of track-like performance and on-street sophistication.

Brian Harper, National Post

I care about the environment. I am intrigued by the advancements in alternative powertains for automobiles. Hybrids can be fun to drive. That said, I am first and foremost a product of my years on this planet, which puts my formative interest in all things automotive at the same time Detroit’s V8-powered muscle cars of the late-1960s and early-’70s reached their heyday. Oh, I never drove them new; my time behind the wheel wouldn’t come until later when friends bought them as third-hand, clapped-out yet still scarily potent rustbuckets. But I yearned as a kid; man, did I yearn.

While the years — and attendant maturity and experience — have taught me to appreciate the finer aspects of automobiles, such as handling, comfort, luxury and quality control, I still have a huge soft spot for raw power of the kind that is channelled to the rear wheels via thundering, big-cube naturally aspirated V8s.

So, what does my trip down memory lane have to do with the 911 Carrera GTS? It comes from Stuttgart, not Detroit, and it sure isn’t V8-powered. True. But that big-displacement (for a Porsche) 3.8-litre boxer-six, unfettered by a turbocharger à la 911 Turbo, pounds out a very Detroit-like 408 horsepower, which is sent to the massive rear wheels.

And since the engine is sitting over that same grippy rubber, hookup is oh-my-sweet-Lord instantaneous. With the optional Sport Chrono Package and Sport mode engaged, the 1,420-kilogram GTS will blister to 100 kilometres an hour in less than 4.5 seconds. While nobody will mistake the banshee wail of the boxer engine in flight with the basso profundo of a seven-litre V8, the electrical charge it sends to your nerve endings is just as visceral.

The thing about the GTS is not just the fact that it is one of the most potent non-turbo production 911s but that it also satisfies the requirements I have come to appreciate with that aforementioned maturity. Of course, that doesn’t stop me from giggling like a schoolgirl when I put hand to steering wheel (or cursing like a sailor when I have to fill it up — 93 octane or better is required of the car, although the 13.3 litres per 100 kilometres I averaged for the week isn’t horrid for something with the GTS’s performance bona fides). If nothing else, Porsche knows how to build cars that reward the driver.

Much of the enjoyment comes from interacting with the six-speed manual tranny. Yes, Porsche’s PDK double-clutch manumatic gearbox is as slick as they come — and will actually hasten the GTS to 100 km/h in less time than with the manual — but there is just something proper about doing it yourself. While the sports car is perfectly compliant when puttering about town, there is some notchiness when sliding the stubby shifter gate to gate.

It’s when getting a little more authoritarian with the Porsche that the action becomes fluid as the engine/transmission duo finds its sweet spot. The musicality of the boxer engine sitting behind you rises with the revs; a quick dab of the clutch and a perfectly slotted shift provide the requisite push back in the deeply bolstered, alcantara-swathed sport bucket seat. It’s quite addictive.

Marry this powertrain with the GTS’s wider track — two millimetres at the front, 32 mm at the rear over a regular 911 — fat rubber and optional Porsche Active Suspension Management (PASM) system and the car will slice corners with the keenness of a carving knife. Before you fork over the $1,090 for PASM, though, consider the roads on which you normally drive. The GTS is already stiffly sprung; switching to the Sport mode ramps up the stiffness to the point of spine compression should the tarmac be anything less than glass smooth. I could take Sport in small doses only — staying in that mode for too long proved tiresome.

What is far from tiresome is the cabin, specifically its high level of comfort for those occupying the front seats. (Yes, there are back seats, but they are of little use except as another place to stash the groceries.) The dominant material in the interior is black alcantara, found in the centre sections of the sport seats, steering wheel rim, gear and hand brake levers, door handles and door storage compartments. It feels almost ticklish to the touch at first, but it is a unique alternative to leather. Equally unique is the centre console, the same Carrara white colour as the tester’s exterior, as well as the bright red seat belts, the same shade as the piston calipers hiding behind the stunning black-spoke rims.

What isn’t so cool is the way Porsche jams it to its dedicated fan base, and I’m not just talking about the price discrepancy between Canada and the United States. Come on, $600 for heated front seats on a car with a $117,600 sticker? Ridiculous! How about $2,410 for the navigation system? Shameful.

That beef aside, the GTS is otherwise one sweet ride — a driver’s car that is docile when need be, ferocious when unleashed and eminently controllable. It’s a modern muscle car from the other side of the pond and a tonic for those of us with long, fond memories of performance past.